Apprehension
by Prince of Mope
Summary: Ichabod and Isidore attend a carnival. They doubt the abilities of a witch and Isidore becomes what he has always been mistaken for.
1. Misgiving

Intricate embroidery lined the edges of silken drapes that hung over this flamboyant and awfully tacky tent. It seemed as if every single hue on the color spectrum was surrounding me. I wanted to vomit. Ew. Gross. Yuck. I was at a carnival. Displays like this were to be expected. Ichabod, a good friend of mine with a brilliant mind and an exterior that seemed to suggest otherwise was seated next to me on a wooden foldable chair. What was the tent's purpose, you ask? Why, it was for fortune telling, charms, hexes… anything remotely similar to magical themes and spells. Naturally, I was in disbelief when I learned about the purpose. So was Ichabod. We then decided to hop inside and contradict everything that was told to us to prove that the concept of the business at hand was a sham.  
There was a short, round woman seated on a high stool behind a table that was in front of us. Her hair was vivacious, long, wispy, and the color of fecal matter. Her face boasted a pair of dark, shimmering, bead-like eyes and small red lips, like rosebuds. This woman resembled a plum in many ways, seeing as she was dressed in garments of a vibrant purple. She smiled warmly. It was rather pleasant to be in her presence, even if she ran a booth with such tomfoolery.  
"Your names?" she asked. She leaned in, entwined her fingers and rested her chin on them.  
"My name is Ichabod," my friend responded with an involuntary nod of the head. He always did that upon meeting a person…  
"Isidore," I said nonchalantly. I couldn't help but feel a bit worse after giving that kind of attitude to the lady, although she seemed to be the type who remained jubilant through everything and was tolerant to an incredible extent to rudeness.  
She opened her mouth again. "Yes, it is good to be meeting you, Ichabod and Isidore. You may call me Galldora. That is what I go by." She squinted a bit. "You are brothers?" It was truly befuddling, how she was not one of those people who assumed I was a woman.  
Ichabod immediately said, "Oh, goodness, no. There isn't any relation." That was one of our pet peeves, being mistaken for siblings or relatives. We both had blond hair and dark eyes, sure. We both had names that began with I. That was merely a coincidence. But that was it. I raised a brow.  
Galldora smirked, smile lines and eye wrinkles emerging on her friendly face. "That's what I thought," she murmured to herself, though it was quite audible. "Yes, yes… You, Ichabod and Isidore, have come here for what?" Ichabod and I pondered for a moment. What DID we want with her, other than to prove everything wrong?  
"We would like to request placing a hex on someone, Ms. Galldora," said Ichabod. I wasn't even given a chance to speak. I deplored coming off as "the shy one". I was never shy. In fact, I'm not shy now either. I exchanged glances with Ichabod for a split second and he knew to let me do the talking from here on out. At least he understood.  
"Oh, to think of what you boys will do with the hexing," said Galldora, poking fun at us for some weird reason. She reverted her arms back to a normal position, back to the sides, holding on to the seat of the stool she sat on. "Is there a special hex you would like me to do the casting…? Or would you rather me do something spontaneous and unexpected to your rivals?" Galldora's eyelidslids lowered a bit and she somehow seemed a little more sinister, though there were no features that really indicated this.  
I spoke, "Rivals? Don't be ridiculous, we've no rivals. We want you to cast a hex on me."  
"Galldora cocked her head to the left. "Why this is? You will only be causing havoc for yourself. Self-inflicted havoc."  
"Do you dare to question your customers' desires? We're paying for this, correct?" I certainly sounded a bit vain while saying that. I turned to Ichabod, who, in a perplexed manner, was looking up at me with a disgruntled expression, almost saying to me, "Do you really want to go through with this?" I begin to ask him anyway, "Are we paying for Ms. Galldora's services, Ichabod? I could have sworn we were…" Ichabod nodded in return.  
Galldora huffed. "Indeed. Yes. Very well, OK. You may do what you would like to do. Now then, what kind of hex? There are physical hexes, mental hexes… hexes that would sabotage certain areas in your life, such as romance or education…"  
I wanted to challenge Galldora. "How about a gender change hex?"  
Galldora frowned. "No. I will do no such thing. Get the surgery for that."  
I lifted my chin up, trying to look down at her, even if it was by an inch. That stool was just so tall. "I see. You don't possess the power to do so. What a second-rate booth this is." Ichabod nudged me a bit with his forearm, saying in a way, "Don't push her to her limit."  
"I do not comprehend why you want to do the gender change. Is this a joke, do you want to make fun of me?" Galldora raised her arms in the air for a moment as a gesture. "I do have power, very strong power. If you doubt me I will show you otherwise. You want to be the girl? I'll make you the girl."  
On that note, she performed some sort of hand dance, twiddling her fingers, flailing her arms and humming softly. Her eyes flitted open and shut during the duration of this hand dance. She appeared to be tracing something in the air, perhaps foreign characters. The act lasted approximately twenty seconds, then she was finished. "It will be hours upon hours for this to take effect. Have patience." Patience is a virtue. Virtue is grace. Grace is a girl with mud on her face. Galldora extended her arm, waiting for the money that she didn't deserve. I paid the fee, of course, and proceeded to exit the tent. Ichabod followed.  
It was getting dark and we had stayed at the carnival for quite some time. The two of us took a taxi back to Ichabod's apartment building. The reason for this was because I claimed to have felt uneasy. Actually, I did feel uneasy. I felt as if I would get hurl right then and there. If it wasn't for Ichabod to nearly drag me back to the entrance, I'd have probably collapsed on the ground and stayed there for a while…  
We arrived at the doorstep. There was no door on this doorstep. Just a huge wallless room with a reception desk and security cameras. Ichabod was pretty well known in these parts of the town, so we passed the "guards" without any inquiries or interrogation. It made me wonder if these men took their job seriously or not. So help me, I could very well have smuggled a firearm into the building and they wouldn't have taken notice. Ichabod and I travelled up to the eleventh floor. Normally we'd walk up the flights of stairs (because of that physical fitness thing Ichabod's always trying to maintain) but today we took the elevator. It would be too much of a hassle for me to hobble up each and every step… Uuugh…  
Ding. There we were, at the eleventh floor. Ichabod's apartment number was 220. He took out his key and inserted it into the slot and jumbled it around, as the doors were rather old, and I… I fell on the filthy floor. I don't recall anything else very vividly, but Ichabod shouted something in a panicked state, got the door open, and with a lot of struggle, carried me in.


	2. Recognition

When I awoke, it was incredibly dim in Ichabod's apartment. I couldn't see anything, but I knew my way around, at least. I was resting on one side of Ichabod's corner couch, covered with papery bedspreads, while he was resting on the other side. Poor, poor Ichabod… not even owning a bed to sleep on.  
I didn't know exactly why I was awake at this point in time, but my mouth was warm and watery, like I couldn't stop salivating. It wasn't very pleasant, having to swallow a mouthful of drool every ten seconds or so. I just remained lying in that one spot, thinking about what kind of illness I could possibly be experiencing at the time. I felt abashed to say the least with what happened earlier, Ichabod having to haul me over here. I felt helpless. I most certainly am not helpless. In fact, I'm an independent person that doesn't require the aid of an aide.  
I was tasting something vile at this point. I jolted up from the couch. I was going to get sick. I scrambled to the bathroom and slammed the sliding door shut. It's a shame I had to do this in Ichabod's apartment, of all places… I dropped to the floor and hunched over the toilet and gagged uncontrollably. Nothing came out, though. I remained in the same position, in case the same thing would happen again, my mouth hanging open and saliva dripping into the water. I was disgusting. Ichabod didn't deserve to have a disgusting person in his home. Why couldn't I have been disgusting elsewhere?  
Minutes passed. I stood, still stumbling about, and flipped on the light switch. …Poor Ichabod, I was wasting money on his electricity bill, too… Brightness came flickering in and I had to adapt to the sudden luminousness. I looked up to the mirror to see my deadly pale face...  
That wasn't me.  
That couldn't possibly be my reflection, no.  
Only, it was. My jawline was more rounded… and… my shoulders slimmer… Two suspicious growths of fat on my chest made my suit wrinkle even more… and I felt flat between the legs. I had no words. None. I didn't know how to react. Was I frightened, angry? Angry at that woman from before? I wasn't showing any positive emotions. I didn't know how to react. I didn't know how to react.  
It was then that I suddenly became nauseous again. I fell to my knees and retched into the toilet, all while removing my blazer and dress shirt and every single bit of clothing I had on myself. I tried to speak loudly to Ichabod, who was still asleep, but I could not say anything and continued to disgorge. I stopped spewing and I had a chance to breathe, although I was inhaling and exhaling with jagged, choppy breaths. This couldn't possibly be a nightmare, could it?  
I said, "Ichab-…" I was unable to finish what I had started. My voice was higher… "Ichabod, Ichabod…" I then said his name louder. "Ichabod. Ichabod…"  
I heard the rustling of sheets. There was a momentary pause. Then I heard, "Isidore? Are you okay? Do you need help?" The padding of his feet against the marble floor was evident as Ichabod steadily walked over to the bathroom.  
"I… help," was all I could say as I disgorged again.  
"Can I come in, Isidore?"  
I just moaned. What was I regurgitating in the first place? It was yellow and fluidic.  
"I'm coming in," said Ichabod. He carefully slid open the door and suddenly laid his eyes on me, in this new form of mine, completely naked. I wanted to scream, but all I could do was wait, stooped over the bowl.  
Ichabod's eyes darted up and down, traveling all across my body in shock. This situation was disturbing. It didn't feel correct for him to see me like this. He hesitantly walked over to where I was kneeling and reached over to flush the toilet. Everything drained. "I-Isidore?" he asked.  
I showed signs of weakness by crying. I didn't want to cry, but crying would be a reasonable thing to do in this scenario. I nodded my head to indicate that I was, indeed, Isidore. "I don't know," I hiccuped. "I don't know what happened. It was… I-it was yesterday… I d-don't know…" Ichabod searched around for a cup, found one in a package of plastic cups, and filled it with water from the sink. He slowly handed it to me. I took it, and he kneeled down next to me, looking at the floor. He was concerned, I could tell, and I felt awful for making him so worried.  
"You can rinse your mouth," said Ichabod. His brow was furrowed and it was like he was in deep thought. I was too horrified to even be in thought and I did as he suggested. I took in some water, sloshed it around, and spat. I took in more water, sloshed it around, and spat. I repeated this cycle many times to try getting things off of my mind, even though it was inevitable I couldn't simply dismiss the fact that the hex from yesterday worked. Ichabod buried his head in his hands.  
I finished rinsing and set the cup down on the floor, taking my blazer and trying to cover myself with it. Ichabod asked, "How do you feel?"  
"Painful," I replied. "My stomach feels like it's swallowing itself." I gulped. There were more moments of silence as we just remained in place, looking downward. "I'll, um… I'll… I'll help with the, um, water bill and the electric… bill… Sorry…"  
Ichabod opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped. He then said, "Don't worry about it." He turned his head toward me, trying not to gaze anywhere else, his face showing a genuine look of distress. "I don't know what to say…"  
"I don't either," I replied. "I don't either…"  
Silence.  
"I'm getting something else for you to wear," Ichabod said as he stood back up, approaching the door. "Take as long as you need to in here." He walked away into a separate room, still taking small glances at my unsettling anatomy. Would I die? I felt as if I would die. My stomach was churning. It just wouldn't stop, the pain. It was good to know that Ichabod would be there for me. Great to know that I wouldn't die alone.  
Ichabod returned with a large, pale blue t-shirt and a loose pair of jogging pants, much like the ones that he was wearing now. I took what I was offered and commenced putting the clothing on. Ichabod's elbows rest on the counter and he leaned in, his hands rubbing his eyes and his forehead and disarranging his hair to a further extent.


End file.
